Together/Not

5 ⌛️The Reality

Carlos smiles, playing along, "Nice to meet you Mia,"
he says, echoing the words of our first meeting.

For a split second, it feels like we're back there—laughing, teasing each other like we used to. For a moment, I let myself believe that maybe things aren't as broken as they feel.

"My drink's not even finished yet—that's a first," he says with a small grin, swirling the liquid in his glass. "What do you want to drink? I'll get it for you."
"Glad I didn't keep you waiting this time," I reply, trying to keep the mood light.
"What's nice? You choose for me".
Carlos chuckles, "Just like before, always leaving the choices to me."

We sit side by side, like we did a year ago—except this time with beers in hand. We reminisce about the good times, the night that we first met, and how it was memorable.

"Remember how you vomited and passed out after two drinks? You were out for two hours," he says, shaking his head with a laugh.

I laugh too, in disbelief and embarrassed. "That didn't happen. You're imagining things."
Carlos laughs even harder. "Oh, I'll never forget it. I didn't know what to do with you."

We joke about it, reliving the moment like it was yesterday, recalling how I barely drank two bottles before passing out. It still baffles me that I did that in front of Carlos, a stranger back then.

"Hey, you promised you'd never bring that up again," I say, half-playful.
"Okay, okay," he grins. "But that night was special. It's the night I met you, and I'll always treasure that."

Hearing him say that flattered me.
In that moment, I felt a warmth spread through me, realizing that our unexpected connection began with a chaotic night that turned into something beautiful.

Atleast it was.

After the jokes, though, the laughter fades.
The present pulls us back to reality,
where the air between us feels heavy and awkward again.

I wait for him to talk, my mind racing with things I want to say, but fear holds me back.
I don't want to upset him, not again.
His anger is like a storm I can't predict, and it terrifies me.
I'm too scared to say anything, too scared to trigger him.
It's like I'm walking on eggshells, traumatized by the weight of his disappointment.

Finally, he breaks the silence. "Should we invite someone else? There's a guy nearby who wants to grab beers."

I hesitate, my heart sinking. "Yeah, sure, go ahead. Tell him we'll be waiting," I say, trying to sound casual, but inside, I'm falling apart.

This was supposed to be our night—our chance to reconnect. Instead, I'm left feeling distant, as if we've drifted so far apart. I sip my drink, trying to numb the ache, feeling like we're just going through the motions of old times, but never quite getting back to what we once had.

What has happened to us?

The night settles in, quiet and heavy. We sit there with beers in front of us, the silence between us louder than anything else. We try inviting others, hoping to fill the empty space, but I'm not really trying. I'm too wrapped up in my own emotions to care. Maybe I think more people would lift the mood, but deep down, I know it won't help.

We sit there like strangers—maybe that's all we've become,
or maybe that's all we were ever meant to be.

No one comes. Eventually, we just get up and leave, walking back to the hotel like two unfamiliar souls sharing the same path because we have no choice. Side by side, but worlds apart.

In the hotel room, the two separate beds are no longer a surprise. Carlos is tired of me—tired of my clinginess, my clumsiness, just... tired of me. The distance between us isn't just physical anymore. He feels like he's on the other side of the world, unreachable. We are so close, yet so far.

The next day, we reach the port of Macau. Carlos wants to walk to the hotel, and while I like walks, I dread trying to keep up with him. His long strides make me feel like I'm chasing him, always trying to catch up. He sometimes slows down and waits for me, then forgets again, and the gap between us grows.

At one point, I manage to convince him to take the bus. My legs are on the verge of giving out, and I want to see the city without feeling like I'm chasing after him. He listens, thankfully. The bus ride through Macau is a relief—the city is beautiful, the buildings elegant, the green posts lining the streets like something out of a postcard. I'm grateful for the break, grateful that for once, I don't have to run after him.

Around five in the evening, we're close to the hotel. "Should we eat dinner now?" he asks. I'm not hungry yet and say it's too early. But he asks again as we pass a restaurant, and I start to wonder why he keeps asking. He asks a third time, and it feels strange—he doesn't usually act like this.

But I let it go.

Back at the hotel, I prepare for our last night together, my heart racing with anticipation. I want to surprise him with a birthday cake, hoping to change his view on birthdays and show him how joyful they can be. He's never really celebrated them, so I dream of being part of a memory he won't forget, one that shines brightly against the backdrop of the past few weeks. I hope we can end on a good note, as friends, at least.

"I'm meeting my friend for dinner," he says casually.

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, I can't breathe. I can't process what he just said. A friend? Dinner? My mind races, my heart sinks. This is why he kept pushing for dinner earlier—he has a plan that doesn't include me.

I force myself to stay calm, to act like it doesn't hurt as much as it does.
"Oh... what time?" I ask, trying to sound unfazed.

But really, what do I expect?
That we'll magically have a great time on our last night?
I can only wish.

"She's waiting for me now," he explains, telling me how he tried to hint at it earlier by asking about dinner multiple times. But why didn't he just tell me? Why leave me in the dark?

"Where are you going to eat?" he asks, showing a flicker of concern.
"No worries, I'll manage," I reply, a bitter edge creeping into my tone.
I hear him sigh, "Okay, I'll be back by 9,".

He's already leaving.
No invitation,
No explanation.
Just gone.

Again.

I sit there, alone again.
The surprise, the cake, the dinner plans—they all suddenly feel ridiculous.
I stare at the empty space where he had been, feeling the weight of his absence like a physical ache.

What now?

What am I supposed to do?

I try to tell myself it's fine.
He's meeting a friend, a ffemale friend—nothing more. But inside, the sadness and anger swirl together, creating a storm I can barely contain.

I gather myself and decide to explore a night market for dinner.